


Connected

by korereapers



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DC Extended Universe
Genre: Character Study, Denial of Feelings, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kinda, M/M, Mind Games, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Resolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 20:36:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29939070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/korereapers/pseuds/korereapers
Summary: It was his idea, as usual, because Edward has brilliant ideas that tend to work… most of the time, anyways. Jonathan deals with insomnia often, and none of them can really deal with the Scarecrow being anything but vigilant in a time like this, when the Bat can find them sooner or later. Nothing like a silly little orgasm to help Jonathan relax, and Edward is more than eager to provide. After all, favors like this are what make an… alliance more successful. Because this is nothing more than that, an alliance. One that has lasted months, and that involves making out and having sex sometimes, but things like that happen all the time, don’t they?
Relationships: Jonathan Crane/Edward Nygma
Comments: 14
Kudos: 19





	Connected

**Author's Note:**

> I want you all to know I was listening to Liar Liar and Sacrimony by Kamelot almost the whole time. Strangely enough, power metal motivates me to write. It has been a hard time for me lately, emotionally speaking. I'm trying to connect to my roots and to what I really like, so of course I'd go back to the music I listened to when I was a teenager.
> 
> Also this was supposed to be a small spinoff... and it became longer than the first fic I wrote. It has references to it, but they can be read individually.
> 
> And yes, the title comes from a Britney Spears song. Not everything can be epic metal. Hi Britney, I love you.
> 
> Take care of yourselves, alright? Be kind to yourselves.

There are many things that can be said about him (and  _ God _ , he really hopes that they keep talking), but nobody can really deny that Edward Nygma has an eye for the aesthetic. No matter if it’s a spandex, or a suit, or even more casual clothes, he makes sure to be seen, to be pleasing to the eye, in his own way. His hair dyed always the same shade of orange, doing his best so his dark roots are never visible, even when it hurts his scalp, even when any dermatologist would tell him to just do his skin a favor and stop being so aggressive to it. Green contact lenses, because green is  _ just  _ his color, and a smile that shines whiter than light itself no matter how much he smokes when he is alone and stressed.

The Riddler targets mostly museums, because security is tight there, and because he has a keen eye for both art and historical pieces. He understands what’s beautiful, what’s relevant, what has value regardless of its price.

And, hell, art connoisseur Edward Nygma still gets marveled at Jonathan Crane’s tired yet blissful expression as he rides him, slow and steady.

It was his idea, as usual, because Edward has brilliant ideas that tend to work… most of the time, anyways. Jonathan deals with insomnia often, and none of them can really deal with the Scarecrow being anything but vigilant in a time like this, when the Bat can find them sooner or later. Nothing like a silly little orgasm to help Jonathan relax, and Edward is more than eager to provide. After all, favors like this are what make an… alliance more successful. Because this is nothing more than that, an  _ alliance _ . One that has lasted months, and that involves making out and having sex sometimes, but things like that happen all the time, don’t they? Just not to Edward, which is… strange. Edward knows everything about what an alliance entails, because Edward knows  _ everything _ , and if he doesn’t, he will sooner or later.

He decides he can investigate the matter a little after they are done. With people who have made steady alliances before, and definitely  _ not  _ Harley and Ivy. Or Selina, who would probably just laugh and not tell him anything.

At first, it was just a handjob or a blowjob, not unlike what they did when they were back in Arkham. Something not  _ necessarily  _ quick, but still easy and convenient. A regular exchange, to put it mildly. It was Edward who suggested this, with proper lube and protection, unable to stand how  _ curious  _ he felt. There was an itch, that was not physical at all, that could only be satisfied with Jonathan buried deep inside of him, short of breath and eyes unfocused behind his glasses, looking at Edward when he even managed to look anywhere at all. Works like a charm for his insomnia, which was the main objective, but not the only one.

Edward cannot get enough of it, even if he doesn’t want to think about it too much.

Usually, Jonathan tends to fight back to get the upper hand… and  _ totally  _ cheats to win, because  _ of course _ he cheats. He doesn’t need his fear toxin to play with people’s minds, and Edward is not an exception. He knows what Edward craves, and he knows how to reduce him to a moaning mess in a matter of seconds as well as he knows the easiest way to break his mind in the most terrifying way. Not that he has ever tried to do the later, which is… interesting, to say the least, for someone so obsessed with fear.

Not that Edward can really say anything about obsessions, not without sounding hypocritical. And he is definitely  _ not _ .

But Jonathan is exhausted, so Edward feels in his element, in control, like he always wants, no,  _ needs  _ to be.

The thought makes him smile, his toes curling in a familiar pleasure when Jonathan sighs audibly. His bony hands are on Edward’s hip, long fingers caressing his skin, keeping him close, not so subtly telling him how much he likes it. Edward’s smile becomes less sharp, a pride that doesn’t cut or feel like molten lava. It just feels warm, and Edward wants to understand. It’s a riddle that he cannot solve yet, but he  _ will _ . He always does.

The thought is still scary, and thinking about what’s scary is outright  _ dangerous  _ in front of the Master of Fear.

“Don’t do that.” Jonathan mutters, and it sounds thin and barely audible, but Edward freezes in a moment.

“Don’t do what, exactly?”

“You are smart, Edward. You know what I’m talking about.”

Edward raises an eyebrow, unfocused blue eyes shining in anger, trying his hardest not to think about the praise. He fails miserably, but Jonathan doesn’t have to know.

“I am supposed to be the one who presents riddles to others.”

Jonathan’s chuckle sounds breathless, his expression far from his usual calculating one, his muscles relaxed, his lips curling in a non threatening way.

_ This is the man whose fantasies are the fears of many _ , Edward thinks, exhaling softly as he moves, sensitive.  _ Quite literally. _

It’s just strange, to see him like this. The scars on his thin body tensing when he reaches out, both hands on each side of Edward’s hips. Irradiated orange eyes that look at Edward’s face,  _ mostly at his face _ , he thinks not without a hint of pride, unable to take his eyes off him. He is hard inside of him, harder than Edward has felt him, which is a feat given that the man hasn’t been able to sleep for days. That’s only a proof of how fucking hot Edward is.

_ He likes me _ , says a voice inside of Edward’s head, the one he tries to ignore most of the time, the part of him that is still a little kid, dying to be loved the right way. He silences it with practiced ease.

_ Of course he does. _

“Can you… Can you even  _ see  _ my face like this?” Edward teases, pointing at Jonathan’s glasses with a small gesture. They are clean enough, but they keep getting foggy when Jonathan breathes deep. Which happens quite often, to Edward’s amusement.

Jonathan raises an eyebrow, the fingers on Edward’s hip drumming playfully.

“I don’t know. Can  _ you _ ?”

Edward makes a sound. Frustrated, exasperated, he can’t tell. He only knows that the man is able to tease him even while being exhausted, and that somehow makes him angrier.

And then, one of those hands, thin, way too thin, that he shouldn’t find attractive at all but does, goes up to his face, clumsily cupping his cheek in a way that makes his entire body freeze and then get progressively warmer.

_ To hell with thermodynamics. _

He doesn’t get it. Sex for him has always been about having fun or getting something in return. Get that sweet validation, a little bit of self destruction, maybe some intel, and then go home and not think about the person in question ever again.

Not with Jonathan.

He often finds himself daydreaming about his hands engulfing Edward’s erection, clever eyes attentive to his every reaction. Whispers of encouragement against Edward’s ear, a smile that Edward wants to see more than anything. His mouth drinking from Edward’s, hot and raw, sweeter than honey, making him, making both of them forget that this is supposed to be a partnership, nothing more.

Only partners in crime. A convenient alliance. Business. Just that.

He thinks about their conversations about psychology and chemistry. About shared cigarettes that shouldn’t mean anything but whose personal aftertaste makes Edward linger on them a little bit too much. About planning their next heist together, falling asleep together, their limbs tangled. Stolen glances, touches that linger a little bit too much. The domesticity of it all, helping each other with smaller projects, because they know that the other would understand. Staying together long after it would have been wise to do so.

Edward is uncharacteristically silent, almost expectant, when Jonathan holds him, moving them both slightly, slow and careful, not wanting to be separated from Edward’s body even for a single second. Not that Edward is complaining.

He doesn’t complain when Jonathan sits up slightly, holding him as he moves closer against the wall. He doesn’t complain when he gets nested between Jonathan’s legs, his own embracing Jonathan’s waist instinctively, wanting to be even closer.  _ Connected _ . He doesn’t complain when Jonathan’s face gets closer to his, not close enough to touch, both taunting him and deep in desire and something that definitely looks like anxiety.

So he takes out Jonathan’s glasses, lost in eyes that used to be blue like his own, but have long lost their old humanity to an insane obsession. Not that Edward doesn’t understand.

_ Look at me _ , he wants to say.  _ Look at me, don’t stop looking at me. _

And before his lips betray him, he closes the distance between them, his mouth against Jonathan’s, a gesture that feels way too gentle, way too intimate. It’s  _ scary _ , and Edward recognizes the feeling in Jonathan’s eyes. Or at least, something similar to it.

He read Jonathan’s files once, back when they were in Arkham. Most patients do, out of curiosity, for leverage, or like in Edward’s case, both. That’s how he found out that, due to his exposure to his own fear toxin, Jonathan Crane is unable to feel fear if it’s not around the Bat. Among other things he doesn’t really want to remember while having sex with him.

So maybe it’s not fear what makes Jonathan freeze, expectant, almost sighing in relief when it’s Edward who deepens the kiss. Maybe it’s not fear, but it’s close enough, and that’s the only thing that matters. And Jonathan is looking at him before both of them close their eyes, lost in the sensation, Jonathan’s hand on his nape, keeping him close. He is looking at  _ him _ , and not at the Bat. 

Edward feels dangerously close to coming only by thinking about it.

“Better.” he mutters against Jonathan’s lips, his heart fluttering when Jonathan smiles against him.

“ _ Better _ .” Jonathan agrees. His hands roam around Edward’s torso, unsure of where to touch. They have had sex countless times, but they have never been this close to anyone. The Scarecrow’s hands are made to handle needles and tools, testing and hurting, not to caress someone’s skin like this.

And Edward understands, because the Riddler’s hands are made to build machines and push buttons, not to hold someone this close, mouth to mouth, chests so close they can almost feel each other’s heartbeat, like they are scared the other will vanish if they are not this close.

Have they always been so  _ desperate  _ to be loved like this?

And God, Edward doesn’t get it, and he hates not understanding, he hates not knowing. Why the puzzle of their relationship doesn’t seem as simple anymore.

“I… I don’t understand.” he mutters, and his voice comes out broken, a little high pitched, and he feels like a child again, instinctively making himself smaller between Jonathan’s legs. 

But Jonathan doesn’t allow it, making him look, his expression reassuring. Sometimes, Edward forgets that he used to offer therapy for a while, and he feels strangely safer, given the circumstances. Jonathan is not going to use him as a guinea pig, he is not toying with him, that much he knows. Edward asks about his fear toxin often, and Jonathan always refuses to use it on him. Vehemently. He makes their limits clear, even when Edward wouldn’t really mind engaging in something autodestructive. And Edward does the same for him, the trust he feels warming him up from the inside.

“Would it help if I told you I don’t get it either?”

Edward smiles at that, a not so fake smugness adorning his features.

“Not at all. I’m supposed to be the smart one, remember? And you were supposed to be sleeping like yesterday.”

Jonathan chuckles against his lips, and he kisses him again. Edward’s brain stops screaming agonically, anything it says being drowned out when Jonathan’s fingers go up his thigh, warm against his skin. His long, calloused hand encircles him, and Edward is painfully aware of how hard he is in a second. Jonathan seems to be pleased by it, given how he throbs inside of him. It’s going to drive him mad.

_ So this is how you die, Eddie _ , he thinks incoherently, almost protesting when Jonathan’s lips move to the corner of his mouth. He exhales softly, and Jonathan dares to smile, his mouth wandering off, sucking under Edward’s jaw.

“That’s it. Lemme hear you. I wanna hear you.”

Okay. Edward is  _ literally  _ going to die. To pop a blood vessel because of how deep he is blushing, how hard he feels against Jonathan’s palm, how equally aroused he can feel him deep inside of him. Jonathan chuckles, the movements of his wrist slow and relaxed. Edward lets out a soft sigh, clicking his tongue afterwards.

“Wasn’t I supposed to be putting you to sleep?”

Jonathan’s eyes shine with what Edward has many times recognized as scientific curiosity. He shares the sentiment, and he actually likes it when Jonathan gets excited like that.

“I have never tried it like this.” Jonathan admits, and Edward would just love to lie to him, but he  _ can’t _ .

So he doesn’t. He fucking hates his compulssion sometimes.

“Me neither. It’s… an interesting change of pace.”

Jonathan’s warm mouth is on the base of Edward’s neck, and Edward licks his lips instinctively. He is sensitive there, both of them know that. Jonathan likes to touch him there, and then feel Edward’s pulse with his lips. He doesn’t really get Jonathan’s fascination with his heartbeat, but Edward supposes that the thing about both of them being notorious Gotham rogues implicitly means that they’re fucking weirdos that are into the weirdest shit.

“Interesting, you say.”

“I like it.” Edward admits, instinctively avoiding Jonathan’s eyes when he looks up. God, is he getting embarrassed?  _ Impossible _ ! The Riddler doesn’t get embarrassed about sex like a fucking virgin. 

Even if he does feel like one.

Deep down, he knows it’s not about the position per se. Far from it. It’s about intimacy and how vulnerable it makes him feel.

“And I like it when you trust me enough to open up to me like that, Edward.”

Edward just makes a noise, his face getting hotter when Jonathan’s free hand caresses his cheek. His expression is unreadable, and Edward wants to know what he is thinking. He cannot stand not knowing something. It itches. And he loves and hates that itch like the addict hates his fix but loves the feeling. It’s that tingling that makes him feel  _ alive _ .

“I want to solve you.” he says without thinking, and Jonathan’s breath flutters against his skin.

“I told you, there is nothing to solve.” but Edward knows that cannot be true, even if he has always been honest with him. That Jonathan keeps his card close to his chest. That when he puts on his mask and costume, he lets his most primal instincts out, but that as a man, he is quiet, always deep in thought. Edwards finds himself enamored to both his calmness and his  _ carnage _ .

Sometimes, he wishes that Jonathan just went wild with him. That he fucked him hard and raw, that he made it hurt just the right amount. That he made him cry and beg. But Jonathan refuses, only giving him a taste of that darkness, denying him the pleasure of being broken. Whispering sweet nothings into his ear, reducing him to a whimpering mess, instead or demeaning and shaming him like he deserves.

Maybe the Bat is right, and Edward is fucking insane. Broken beyond remedy. Maybe he does need to lose, he craves the pain that comes with defeat. Nobody will think he cheated if he loses, and he can only attain true control when he willingly gives it to someone else. He knows pain, and it makes him feel safe. Grounded. At home.

He thinks about his father’s belt around his neck, and-

“I told you not to do that…”

And he wants to answer, to say something witty, but the way Jonathan’s eyes shine when he looks at him renders him speechless for a couple of seconds.

“I think I’m going crazy,” he says instead. He almost whines when Jonathan stops altogether, his mouth far from that sensitive spot on Edward’s neck.

“I hate to tell you this, but we kind of escaped from an asylum some months ago.”

Edward makes a face, barely resisting the urge to mock him.

“You know what I mean, Jonathan.”

And Jonathan perks up when he says his name. It’s… almost cute, actually. In the weird “I slice people open with a scythe after making them face their deepest fears” kind of way.

“I fear I cannot give you what you want, Edward,” he starts, his voice softer than usual. “But I can give you what you  _ need  _ instead. I can, and I will.”

And God if the genuine care in Jonathan’s voice doesn’t make Edward’s legs weak. Jonathan must feel it, because his hands go back to Edward’s legs, holding them sweetly. Reassuring.

“Then what are you waiting for?”

Edward shivers in pure desire at the way Jonathan grins, like the devil everyone knows he is. Like both of them are.

“Oh, but darlin’,'' Jonathan whispers, his lips close to Edward’s own, tasting his breath. His anticipation. “I’m  _ dying  _ to spoil you rotten.”

It’s intoxicating, he thinks. He cannot say anything coherent, not when Jonathan looks at him like that, their mouths close, tempting him like the sweetest delicacy. He is so nervous that he accidentally bumps his nose against Jonathan’s crooked one, which earns him a chuckle. And Edward would do anything to hear that noise again.

Jonathan kisses him just below his lips, with a patience that seems to be infinite. There are dark circles around his eyes, and Edward feels a pinch of guilt biting at his chest.

He moves softly, rocking his hips, marvelled at the way Jonathan’s expression melts in a moment. It’s a simple movement, but he finds that he loves it as much as Jonathan seems to. So he does it again, and again, his little experiment a success. His brain seems to stop buzzing a little, enough to let him breathe, to allow himself to smile when Jonathan’s mouth goes back to his neck, licking and biting softly like Edward is delicious.

It’s strange, Edward thinks. To be more focused on Jonathan’s pleasure than his own. Narcissistic Edward Nygma has his own kind of hedonism, and even pleasuring someone has to be enjoyable for him. He has to get something in return, either be information, or pleasure itself.

Not like this. Not with him.

“Go slow, I wanna feel you.”

Edward nods, moaning softly when Jonathan touches that sensitive spot with his mouth, sucking on it, licking it softly before nibbling on it carefully. 

“Look at me,” Jonathan mutters, and Edward obeys without thinking. “I wanna see that handsome face of yours.”

He is on the verge of having an aneurysm. That much he knows. He bites his lip when Jonathan hand goes back to his erection, teasing the tip with his thumb before taking him whole, making a satisfied hum when Edward actually squirms a little.

_ This is torture _ , Edward thinks. Being masturbated slowly while feeling something hard inside of him everytime he moves. No escape from stimulation, but it being just too goddamn  _ slow _ .

So. Fucking. Slow.

That’s when he feels Jonathan’s free hand on his hip, helping him position himself better, joining him in the tortuous motions, seemingly guiding him so-

_ God. Fuck. _

Edward knows that he is making a noise. A noise, just an unidentified sound emerging from his throat like it was dying to get out of his body. It’s just pure, unadulterated pleasure, because Jonathan is pressed deep against a spot inside of him that they have already explored with fingers before, but nothing like this. Fuck, nothing like this. The pressure feels better than anything in the world, and God, they have just gotten started.

It’s not like it’s his first time getting his prostate touched like that. He is sensitive, and some of the people he has had sex with found it incredibly funny to make the Riddler shut up just by pressing a button. Even if that button is up his ass. Maybe because it is.

But Jonathan doesn’t  _ want  _ him to shut up. He studies his reactions with a clinical eye, amused and strangely  _ fond _ .

“There?” Jonathan asks, and he fucking dares to look  _ innocent  _ for a moment, only a second, before a grin adorns his features. Thin lips show a hint of teeth, as if Jonathan was hungry, and ready to eat his favorite meal.

“Yes. God, yes. Just… Please…”

_ Eat me whole. _

And Jonathan is kissing him, biting his lower lip, looking so goddamn full of himself and moaning in unison when Edward moves, a throaty sound leaving his mouth when Jonathan touches that spot inside of him again.

“That’s it, darlin’. Let me hear you. Let me know how much you like it.”

And Edward outright sobs when they move again, knowing that he won’t last long like this, no matter how slow they take it. No matter how much he wants it, more than anything. He loves this sweet torture that turns his legs into jelly, that sets a flame inside of him, craving a fuel that only Jonathan’s lips can give him.

“Jon, I…” he tries to say, painfully aware of how Jonathan’s eyes shine when he says his name, “I don’t think I can…”

“You’re taking me so well, though. I know you can take more. I know you can.” he assures him, and his tone changes to one less sharp, less like the Scarecrow, and more like Jonathan’s. “Breathe.”

He tries, he really tries. He breathes deep, unable to calm down, Jonathan’s eyes on his face, like he is assessing the situation. He is hot when he looks at him like that.

Hot, but kind of a prick.

Edward outright protests, though weakly, when the hand masturbating him leaves its task unfinished, both hands holding his hips firmly, slowly going down, cupping his ass and keeping him glued to Jonathan’s body. He can only rock his hips to get any kind of stimulation, his cock against Jonathan’s abdomen not being nearly enough to let him come.

Jonathan sighs, smiling slightly when Edward’s hands leave the bedsheets and perch themselves on his shoulders, as if Edward was looking for any warmth he could get. And maybe he is.

“Help me test a theory, Edward.” Jonathan says, and his eyes look bloodshot with both exhaustion and something else. Maybe it’s not the mask, Edward thinks. It’s the inhibition. And Jonathan is way too tired to hold himself back in some aspects. “Can I make you come only with my cock inside of you?”

Edward just nods, desperately. He knows he can, they  _ both  _ know he can. Jonathan could make him come just by  _ talking _ , because they both believe in the power of the mind, and how it warps what the body feels or does. They both love their little mind games. They are the best, albeit not the easiest way to arouse each other and bring each other over the edge.

“I bet I can.” Jonathan murmurs, slow enough so that each and every word gets engraved inside of Edward’s brain.

He is sweating, he realises when Jonathan’s fingers move to his forehead, gently putting a few dyed locks in place. He then sinks his fingers in Edward’s thinning hair, softly gesturing him to get closer. The kiss is not particularly deep or rough, but Edward loves it. He loves the warmth, Jonathan’s warmth. Their breaths entwine, like they are one and the same. Their lips are wet and reddened, and still wanting to be glued to each other like they can’t have enough. Craving that kind of connection with the other. 

He is reassuring him, Edward realises. Never crossing an invisible line that only he can see. He respects him, Edward thinks. He cares about him. The thought makes his mind go dizzy.

And like that, Edward moves, his hips back and forth, back and forth, like in the most intimate dance he has ever been to.

His legs embrace Jonathan tight, closer, and Jonathan makes a sound, hands travelling to touch Edward’s cheeks before he kisses him again, like he cannot decide where to touch, enamored by every inch in Edward’s body.

“Are you alright?” Jonathan asks, their mouths almost touching, and Edward just nods once, twice, until Jonathan smiles, a gesture that reaches his eyes and makes Edward’s breath hitch. 

Edward has seen lots of beautiful things in his life, he knows beauty when he sees it. Nothing even close to this. Nothing like a fond smile, born from genuine care. Like long, scarred fingers caressing his cheeks, enjoying his warmth. Looking at him like he is precious.

Edward moves, almost furiously, stealing a moan from Jonathan’s lips, orange eyes open in surprise, his whole body reacting to Edward’s movements, tensing and almost shaking, muscles that seem frail but are far from it contracting as he grunts deeply against Edward’s lips. And this time, it’s Edward who is smiling.

Jonathan is not loud. He looks like a ghost in the middle of the night, when Edward surprises him drinking yet another cup of coffee, taking a silent sip with a calm expression. He doesn’t make a noise when he moves around the place, a haunting presence that would chill him to the bone if he didn’t know the man well enough. He is not loud even during sex, more focused on Edward than he is on his own pleasure. Edward adores that, how freaking devoted he is to making him feel good, to memorize every single expression, every single gesture. That’s why he doesn’t take his glasses off if they are not close like this. He is not vain, like Edward is, he only wants to see, to know. To see Edward as he truly is, in his most incoherent moments. Jonathan is a scientist, through and through.

That, Edward can respect.

Their foreheads stay together when they have to catch their breath, linking them, keeping them connected as they grind against each other, shuddering whenever Edward feels even the slightest pressure on his prostate, his muscles contracting around Jonathan because of how good it feels. 

And Jonathan? For once, Jonathan is  _ far  _ from silent.

“Christ... Edward,” he moans against his lips, his hands on Edward’s hips, softly digging his nails into the sensitive skin as if he were  _ possessed _ by the most primal sense of desire. “That’s… that’s good. That’s fucking good.”

Edward believes that maybe he is possessed, too. In the most rational way, of course. He literally can’t stop looking at Jonathan, drinking all the praise from his lips, thriving on the attention that Jonathan gives him. The feeling is going to consume both of them, but it’s going to do it with them together, like this, closer than they have ever been to anyone else.

The thought makes his abdomen tingle, his legs trembling as they hold Jonathan close.

“Jon…  _ Fuck _ , Jon. I think…”

Jonathan’s hand moves slightly, doubtful, but Edward shakes his head, putting it back on his hip. Both of them are close, he knows that, because one of Jonathan’s legs always shakes slightly when he is about to come, and Edward can clearly feel it vibrating against the sheets.

It’s kind of cute.

“No… No cheating. You… you have a theory to prove.”

And Jonathan grins, because of course he does. He moves a little, almost at the same time that Edward does, and the sound that leaves Edward’s lips is enough to make Jonathan swear in return. He is tired, Edward knows that. But he is still trying, unable to let Edward do all the work.

“Ah, but… We both know I can, don’t we?” Jonathan says, and Edward knows what he is doing. That in his own way, the Scarecrow is worried. Worried that it’s too much, worried that his body won’t be able to take it, that his mind is on the verge of snapping. But if Edward wasn’t always on the verge of snapping, he wouldn’t have been sent to Arkham. He is more than smart enough to admit that he has a fucking problem.

“That’s the riddle... isn’t it?” he asks, and damn if Edward doesn’t love his riddles.

And like that, he knows he has won. Jonathan smiles, orange eyes bright with fear toxin, but not only. Not only, and the answer he seeks, the answer he  _ knows _ , because he feels it deep in his bones too, is going to drive him  _ crazy _ .

The thing about riddles is that they seem difficult at first, but their answer is actually quite simple. Edward still isn’t that sure that he can grasp the answer for the most important riddle that has been plaguing him.

“Let’s test it, then.”

Jonathan doesn’t kiss him this time, focused on the sounds he makes, his expression. Little does he know that Edward is doing exactly the same thing, one of his hands on Jonathan’s nape, caressing his scalp. Jonathan purrs, and then grunts when Edward moves, again and again, until his mind goes blank, aware of how sore his throat feels when Jonathan’s lips are on his Adam’s apple, sucking on it, feeling Edward’s pulse against his mouth.

And  _ fuck _ , Edward has been  _ dead _ , but nothing can compare to this. The sensation blooms everywhere, slow and intimate, his whole body aflame and overstimulated, and he can feel himself rolling his eyes in pleasure. He doesn’t register the kind of sound he makes, but he feels it in his lungs, threatening to make him burst. He does feel Jonathan’s hands on his back, his breath against his neck. He doesn’t know what he is saying, lost in his own bliss, but he does know it’s something sweet. Encouragement, maybe. Praise. Reassurance.

Damn, his eyes are burning.

Jonathan’s lips are on his cheek, on his jaw, before touching Edward’s own lips with the gentleness of a butterfly. Jonathan is exhausted, and he hasn’t even come yet, but he is making sure that Edward is okay the best way he can. That’s-

“That’s kind of cute.” he says without thinking, still lost in post orgasmic bliss, and he immediately freezes.  _ Oh. Fuck.  _ He would blame himself and his big damn mouth, but it’s not actually his fault, is it?

Of course it’s Jonathan’s fault. Jonathan, who dares to look perplexed for a couple of seconds before a shit eating grin forms on his lips.

“Cute?  _ Me _ ? That’s new.”

Edward swears out loud, blushing and sweaty. He hates this. He tries to regain his composure, not without herculean amounts of effort. Keyword:  _ tries _ .

“Would you be so kind as to  _ please  _ shut. The fuck. Up?”

Jonathan laughs at that, and Edward is yet again faced with contradictory feelings, both wanting to strangle him and kiss him at the same time.

“As they say, Edward… Make me.”

And fucking Gotham be damned, Edward thinks as he sighs deep, he is not going to turn down a challenge like that.

It won’t take long, he knows that much. He knows Jonathan’s grin, his orange eyes unfocused and wanting to look literally everywhere in Edward’s body. His long legs trembling slightly, bony hands wanting to reach every corner of Edward’s body like he hasn’t explored it enough. Even a patient man has his limits, and Edward himself hasn’t enough patience to test them to begin with.

He sighs when Jonathan moans, his hands on Jonathan’s shoulders as he moves slowly. He looks handsome like that, his hair a mess, his eyes tired. Looking at him, only at him. His lips looking for Edward’s, his hands finally resting on his hips, then digging his nails on Edward’s ass. Edward shudders, and there’s a smile against his lips.

He murmurs something that Edward doesn’t quite get, but he does get the not so subtle movement in Jonathan’s hips, slightly upwards, so Edward takes the hint. He grinds against him once, twice, the slow tempo making Jonathan swear out loud.

Edward loves it.

“I could torture you forever like this, but I am an  _ incredibly  _ benevolent man.”

Jonathan laughs at that, like it’s the funniest joke he has ever heard. Because he knows that in a battle of endurance, Edward is going to lose spectacularly. Not that Edward will ever admit it out loud.

“You actually believe that.”

Edward’s face is definitely red with both anger and embarrassment. He can feel it. He is getting dizzy.

“Don’t force my hand, Jon.”

And Jonathan has the gall to smile at him, like challenging him. Edward would actually accept the challenge if Jonathan’s expression wasn’t so tired, eyes sunk despite the excitement. So he does increase the tempo, earning him a groan that momentarily makes Jonathan’s smile disappear.

God, he wants it back.

Jonathan looks focused. His eyebrows are furrowed, his thin lips trembling and showing a glimpse of his teeth. And God, his eyes. His eyes are oozing with chemicals, shinier than he has ever seen them, looking at him like he is one of his experiments, mesmerized, enamored. The thought makes something inside of him tingle.

“Handsome. So handsome.” he mutters, and Jonathan perks up instantly. He knows what they used to say of him, he knows how much the Scarecrow and his costume has a lot of Jonathan embracing his own ugliness, his lack of charm. But Edward believes nothing of the sort. 

In front of him, with those eyes that seem to burn, passionate and fiery behind the apparent calmness, lies a man who can match him. A man who understands. The most handsome man, and that, he can admit out loud.

And hell if Edward doesn’t want to make him snap.

Long fingers caress his nape, slow and careful. Jonathan’s breath is uneven as Edward moves, moaning deeply before he is finally able to speak.

“You… You’re out of your mind.”

Edward smiles at his words, their noses touching, their lips close, but not close enough. Like a timebomb waiting to explode. Waiting for a sign to destroy absolutely everything.

“You know I only speak the truth.”

Jonathan shudders, and for a moment, Edward almost feels anxious. Almost.

“I know.”

What comes next is technically a kiss, but Edward would actually consider it a freaking physical invasion. There are teeth, and a tongue that seems to be thirsty for him, for every little part of his mouth. And he fights back, more passionately than ever, moaning against Jonathan’s lips, because he is also full of want and he cannot seem to get enough. Jonathan outright grunts, and one of his legs moves awkwardly under Edward’s weight.

“That’s it…” he manages to say in a whisper, but Jonathan’s lips don’t seem to want to rest, refusing to leave his mouth unoccupied. Refusing not to be glued to him, addicted to their connection. “That’s it, Jon… let yourself go.”

And in that moment, Edward knows. He knows he can’t make Jonathan snap, not like this, not when they are in each other’s arms, legs shaking and pulling each other closer, breaths that seem one and the same. That the fire in his eyes is not just passion, it’s something else. Something that Edward sees clearly, but cannot accept even to himself, no matter how much he wants it.

When Jonathan comes, he embraces him like a lifesaver, looking for his lips in what seems like desperation. There are grunts and short moans, different from his usual sighs, and they are close to Edward’s mouth like he is confessing something unmentionable. His body tenses in a moment, like Edward’s one is pure electricity, burning and jolting him  _ alive _ . But the most important thing, what makes Edward’s heart stop for a moment, before beating hard and fast against his chest...

Jonathan is smiling. Jonathan is  _ happy _ . He is happy because of  _ him _ .

None of them can speak yet, but they don’t have to. Edward kisses his sweaty forehead, reassuring him without words. He then kisses him between the eyebrows, and after that, on the bridge of Jonathan’s nose.

Gestures like that are unnecessary and  _ emotional _ , but Edward finds himself enjoying them. Not only what he takes, but what he can give, without expecting any praise for it. He just… wants to.

“Stay.” Jonathan manages to say after Edward gets rid of the condom and gets both of them cleaned a little, and he knows that Jonathan will fall asleep sooner than later. He sees in Jonathan’s movements, heavy and uncoordinated, and he is tempted to laugh. He doesn’t, but the smile on his lips is impossible to hide.

He thinks about the smoke his body craves. About how they usually don’t sleep in the same bed, trying to keep at least some kind of emotional distance. To pretend that what’s obvious isn’t really there, touching every part of their lives, dyeing their dark and cold world with something warmer and way more colorful.

He then thinks about the vulnerability, and how much Jonathan hates it, how much he wants to become the embodiment of what everyone fears. How much he wants to be fear itself. And yet… and yet he is asking him, almost desperately, not to leave him alone.

Edward wholeheartedly understands the sentiment.

Jonathan’s hand rests near Edward’s, not daring to touch him, not like that, not with that amount of clarity, when they can’t excuse themselves by saying it was just in the rush of the moment, that they were too fucking horny or excited to think properly. 

Edward surprises himself taking it, entwining their fingers, his heartbeat hard against his ears. And in a couple of seconds, Jonathan’s breath gets deeper, more relaxed. They are connected, refusing to let the other go, and Edward’s mind won’t stop buzzing, but he manages to breathe and calm down a little.

He has the answer to the riddle, and he cannot utter it yet, fearful of what the heart can give birth to. The mind is easy enough to understand, but the heart... 

Edward is scared, for once, of the answers that he has been seeking. He is terrified, utterly terrified, and yet…

And yet, Edward stays.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me with this same username on tumblr AND twitter. I'm always willing to chat!


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